White Lips, Pale Face
by Youarethelightoftheworld
Summary: John meets Sherlock when he is at his worst.
1. A Team

_Breathing in the snowflakes_

Tall, pale, dark – stumbling down Baker street.

Unsteady, unaware, unkempt.

Shivering.

221. 221. 221. Right…here…

Fading. Falling.

Gone.

* * *

_Closed eyed, and hoping for a better life_

Sherlock's eyes open, and then close. He is in his bed, wrapped in a filthy duvet. How long since he had last washed it?

His return to consciousness is always paired with disorientation, and when a cold, wet flannel is pressed to his forehead, he pulls back in surprise.

"Mycroft?"

"No. I saw you faint, and, well…I brought you up here. I spoke to your landlady. You've been out for about an hour."

He does not know that voice.

He's so tired. The pleasure of detachment is beginning to fade, and the pain is returning, bringing with it his most common thought:

More. More. More.

I need it. Get me some, please god, get me some.

Exhaustion is taking over. He can't be bothered to push it away. There's a tentative hand in his hair, stroking. A different kind of pleasure, one he can barely recall ever experiencing stems from the touch.

Warmth, light.

"Who are you?"

"My name is John."

Sherlock slips into a dream.


	2. Wake Me Up

It had been 2 months since he'd fainted outside his flat, and Sherlock Holmes could not get rid of John Watson.

The man had been slouched in a chair next to his bed when he'd woken up that day, and Sherlock had stared at the sleeping man for about .5 seconds before deciding that this just would not do.

Sherlock Holmes did not need a nanny.

And yet, John kept returning. He would stop by the flat in the morning before going to work at the clinic, sometimes bringing tea and other times just for a quick chat. It was infuriating. It was completely unnecessary.

Sherlock absolutely did _not_ enjoy it.

John had given very little explanation for his actions, and seemed to think that the situation was not strange at all. Before long, it just became common for John to be in the flat.

It was not surprising that John found him lying there.

* * *

_Maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up_

He may have been sleeping, if John hadn't known better.

"Wake up, Sherlock. Wake up. Please…"

Slow breathing, blue lips.

Sirens.

* * *

_You will never know just how beautiful you are to me._

The lights were hurting Sherlock's eyes.

"John. The lights."

John snapped to attention and leapt from his bedside chair, placing his hands on either side of Sherlock's shoulders and leaning close, eyes wide and staring.

"You're awake."

"The lights, John."

John hurried to close the curtains and turned off the lights in the hospital room. He slumped against the wall, breathing hard and fast. Relief poured through him.

He met Sherlock's eyes across the room, and the words didn't need to be said out loud. Sherlock could see it in his eyes.

Never again.

* * *

_Maybe I fell in love when you woke me up_

After the overdose, the shift occurred. Sherlock found that he was again experiencing a feeling that he could barely recall.

Fear.

Not fear of death, but of losing John. Fear of losing this man, friend, companion. Fear of losing whatever this was.

When John entered the flat one week later, he found Sherlock at the kitchen table with is head in his hands. He spoke two words, barely louder than a whisper.

"Help me."


	3. Give Me Love

When the withdrawal set in, it rocked them both to the core.

John took one look at Sherlock curled up on the bed in pain and called the clinic to tell them that he would not be in that week.

* * *

_Give a little time to me, we'll burn this out_

The need was great enough that it nearly blocked out everything else. Sherlock was locked in his mind, pushing back as hard as he could against the desire to find some, anywhere, now now now, and nothing else penetrated his thoughts.

And then, he sensed a warmth somewhere near his charged and shivering body.

He reached out a hand, grasping at air.

The warmth moved.

A hand found his.

* * *

_You know I'll fight my corner_

It was the voice that threatened John's resolve to stay calm the most.

He had grown used to Sherlock's deep, commanding tone. Even when he was high, which, truthfully, was most of the time, he managed to sound confident and strong.

That voice was gone, now.

"Oh god, John, it hurts, please, everything aches…help me, get me some, please, _please."_

The sound nearly broke John in half.

* * *

At 3 am, neither one of them had slept at all.

Sherlock's breathing was rough, and his fingers tugged at his hair as if grasping for some sort of relief for the pain in his head.

Tears prickled his eyes as he whispered, semi-consciously, the same words over and over:

Give me some…give me some…give me some…

John, who had been pacing the room in a fit of anxiety, seemed to decide something as he turned towards the bed resolutely, climbing in next to Sherlock.

"Come here."

Sherlock felt himself being pulled back until his back rested against John's chest, his head falling back onto John's shoulder. Fingers stroked his temple, his ears, his cheekbones, making tiny circles.

The warmth seeped into his veins.

John's words traveled slowly through the haze, murmured in his ear like a prayer:

"I cannot give you that, Sherlock. But I can give you myself. I'm yours, Sherlock. Stay with me, now. Please, stay with me."

Sherlock fell asleep to the sound of John's voice.


	4. You Need Me, I Don't Need You

_People think that I'm bound to blow up_

John burst through the door of 221, shouting a quick hello to Mrs. Hudson and hurrying up the stairs. When he found Sherlock on the couch, he ignored his sulking expression and plunged ahead.

"I found you a job!"

Sherlock shot him a disbelieving look.

"A job, John? Jobs are dull."

"This one isn't. I spoke to my friend Greg - yes, Sherlock I have friends, don't scoff – and he said he needs someone to take notes for him at crime scenes. Someone to keep track of all the evidence, or something. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

"John, that sounds exceptionally horrid. My mind will not tolerate note-taking."

The hopeful look fell off of John's face, and Sherlock felt dimly pleased with himself. He'd been clean for one week, and the effort was making him extremely irritable.

"Honestly, John, I am entirely too intelligent for such a menial occupation."

"Well, Sherlock, as you've been addling your brain with revolting drugs, you may need to reevaluate that statement and take what you can get! You need this job!"

"I do not _need_ anything, John, least of all you, and I certainly do not require your help in finding a job. Why are you even here? Why are you _always_ here? Why won't you ever just leave me alone?"

Silence.

The force of the slam shook the door on its hinges.

* * *

_And I can't, no, I won't hush_

John saw the taxi pull up and watched as Sherlock jumped out, dressed in a well-tailored suit.

John had never seen him in a suit before.

He opened the door.

* * *

_You need me_

"Come with me, John."

"Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next question."

"Why should I?"

Sherlock let the smug look fall from his face, and it was replaced with a timid one that John had rarely ever seen.

"Because I need you."

John nodded.

* * *

_I won't stay put, give me the chance to be free_

The note-pad had long since been forgotten.

Greg stood with his mouth open and eyes wide as Sherlock Holmes circled the body, rattling off deductions and solving a crime that had befuddled every professional at the Yard.

Sherlock met John's eyes and was shocked by the look of adoration that he saw there. No one ever looked at him like that. Suddenly, the memory of John's fingers quelling the pain of his withdrawal made his stomach flutter.

It was the first deduction he had made out loud in months.

It was the first deduction that John had seen him make.

"Brilliant."


	5. Lego House

_If you're broken, I will mend you_

John and Sherlock entered the flat and fell against the wall, out of breath and laughing quietly so as not to wake Mrs. Hudson.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

Sherlock let the sound of John's laughter heal him, washing away the need that he'd fought so hard to escape and replacing it with something else entirely.

"John. Will you stay here tonight?"

John looked up, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Of course."

* * *

_I'll do it all for you, in time_

Neither of them knew what to do.

They ended up sitting on the couch, cross-legged and knees touching.

After a few moments, Sherlock spoke timidly, staring pointedly at his hands.

"I can't believe you're here."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never had anyone stay with me this long. I frighten people away. It's what I do. Even my family…"

John placed one finger under Sherlock's chin, lifting gently until their eyes met.

"Look at me. I'm not frightened, Sherlock."

Sherlock shifted onto his knees, taking John's hands and peering into his eyes questioningly.

"What are you?"

"Happy."

_It's all for you_

"So am I."

_Out of all these things I've done, I will love you better now_

Sherlock stood up and led John into his bedroom.


	6. Kiss Me

_Settle down with me, and I'll be your safety._

They shut the door behind them.

Soft and shy,

Then brave.

Foreheads pressed together, eyes meet -

Now, now, now.

* * *

_Kiss me like you wanna be loved._

Sherlock moves closer, and in spite of everything, John is surprised.

The kiss is soft and slow, and just a little sad.

The pain of what they've been through is there on the surface.

It will not be ignored.

* * *

_I've been feeling everything from hate to love, from love to lust, from lust to truth_

Underneath it all are words that John can't say:

Promise me you won't go back.

Stay here with me.

Let me be enough.

Let me save you.

_This feels like falling in love_

Three words spoken into the darkness:

"You already have."


	7. Autumn Leaves

_Do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you?_

John moves in.

The days pass quickly in a blur of new clients, kisses, loud disagreements, and eventual compromises.

Sherlock begins calling himself a consulting detective - the only one in the world.

John memorizes every inch of Sherlock's body - every scar, finger, and eyelash.

Sherlock learns how to laugh.

The warmth has taken hold of 221B, settling in the walls and making it a home.

Two years pass.

* * *

It happens on a Tuesday.

Sherlock fails to solve a case, and two young boys are murdered.

John knows what Sherlock has done before he even walks through the door.

After all, Sherlock has taught him to deduce these things.

He finds him on the couch, and their eyes meet.

_Is it that it's over or do birds still float for you?_

Sherlock is already far away.

John turns and leaves.

* * *

When John enters the apartment the next morning, Sherlock has returned to himself.

He sits in the same spot that John found him in long ago, his head in his hands.

When he looks up, his face is wet with tears.

He stands, shaking, and walks slowly towards John.

Places one hand on John's face.

John shoves him against the wall.

* * *

_Another tear, another cry, another place for us to die._

John surges forward, smashing their lips together.

He slams his fist on the wall next to Sherlock's head,

Thrusts his hips forward,

And the portrait hanging next to them crashes to the floor.

A zipper is pulled down

A hand shoves in, under, around

Grasping, stroking

Sherlock moans.

Gasps,

Cries,

Shudders,

Exhales.

John falls to his knees

And sobs.

* * *

_You're miles away, and yesterday you were here with me…_

"John…"

"No."

"Please -"

_Another life that's gone to waste, another light gone from your face_

John packs a bag.

He sends for the rest of his things the next day.


	8. Sunburn

_I've moved far away from you_

John wakes up every morning and makes tea.

He goes to the clinic and stays longer than necessary.

He learns how to cook and always makes more than one person can eat.

He reads,

He watches his favorite shows,

He goes on dates.

A day does not pass without tears.

A day does not pass without the thought of Sherlock.

He begins to limp.

_You scarred and left me, like a sunburn_

* * *

_We never even tried, we never even talked_

Sherlock doesn't sleep.

He solves crimes and makes deductions out loud, even when he's alone.

He reads.

He teaches himself how to play the violin, but plays for no one.

He doesn't laugh, or even smile.

He is always cold.

_I want to see you here, beside me dear_

Three months pass.


	9. This

John runs into his friend Mike Stamford on the street, and they stop for a coffee. They haven't seen each other in years.

He tells Mike that he doesn't know anyone who would want to be his flat mate, and Mike smiles.

* * *

"Here's the lab, John. Come on in."

"Bit different from my day… "

John freezes.

He jerks backwards,

Stares.

Sherlock doesn't see him.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?"

"Sorry, it's in my coat."

John breathes shakily,

Hesitates,

Inhales deeply.

_This is the start of something beautiful_

He takes one tentative step forward.

"Here. Use mine."

Sherlock looks up

The microscope slide in his hand snaps in two.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.

When John's mouth curves into a shy smile,

Sherlock beams.

_Take me back, take me home_

* * *

_And I throw it all away and watch you fall into my arms again_

The wounds are not so easily healed.

There is so much grief, and guilt, and hurt.

And while they both try their hardest to fix things,

It almost isn't enough.

Touches are hesitant,

And words are spoken cautiously.

But as time passes, they grow strong again.

One day, while drinking tea in 221B, Sherlock looks up and sees trust in John's eyes once more.

He gets down on his knees and vows never to break it again.

* * *

_You are the earth I will stand upon, you are the words I will sing_

Three weeks after finding each other at St. Barts, John moves back in.

That night, they share a bed for the first time in months.

Sherlock brushes his lips against John's forehead.

John laces their fingers together under the covers.

No more words are spoken.

John falls asleep on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock is warm again.

* * *

"The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings


End file.
